Blood Lines
by GoldenSnitch81
Summary: Before the boy who lived Voldemort triumphed and a mysterious student bewitches a new potions master. Will he reign her in or will she ensnare him in her web.


Painful Curiosity

_The __'__Boy Who Lived__'__ is still a boy, the wizarding world so far unknown. He slumbers, the sleep of the young, content in his crib.. _

_The boy dreams and easy sleep turns restless. Screaming, light flaring green and bright; pain, sudden and quick, then gone. He snuffles in his sleep and stretches then eases slowly down into dreamlessness again._

_Far away, in another realm, a witch is awake. _

_Her sleep is not so easy, dreams not so easily defined, strange and frightening. Something beckons her, a throb in her soul, a deep pain she cannot define, calls her from her warm bed. She finds herself wandering, corridors silent. Bizarre images flash in her head as she wanders. She hears voices and melts seamlessly into an alcove. She has honed this skill at least. She roams the deserted corridors until she feels at ease, or at least enough to fall exhausted into bed. For this is an ongoing thing. Every night, looking for something she cannot find._

_Finally, a witch sleeps too._

The corridor is silent, students and teachers long since to bed. She steps, silent in bare feet over the rough stones, soundless. Darkened alcoves hide her if the need arises, her curtain of black hair to hide her face. Wand in her pocket forgotten she moves through the darkness trailing slim fingers against the icy wall to guide her. Stairs emerge suddenly before her and she catches herself, toes hooked over the edge of the top stair, balancing precariously. Peering down, she sees nothing. Drawing her wand from pocket in her robes, she murmurs a spell.

"_Lumos__"_

The stairway is deserted, the door at the bottom closed. She has no doubt that there are powerful wards guarding against entry. She steps down until she reaches the door. No simple spell will open this lock, she thinks, but she feels no magic. She cannot feel the vibrating hum that betrays enchantment, to her at least. She reaches tentative, for the knob, curious. She closes a soft white hand over the brass handle, cool beneath her palm. The sudden surge of power is so quick; she feels it a moment too late. Before she can jerk her hand away her flesh is fused, bonded fully to the metal.

"Shit!" she moans, stifling sobs.

There is nothing for it, she realizes. Bracing herself, she furiously tears fused skin away from the knob. The pain buckles her knees for a moment and she clamps her uninjured hand over her mouth to smother her cries. She wipes her streaming eyes briskly on the sleeve of her robes she will try another night then.

Stealing quickly up the stairway, she risks a glance at her injured hand before extinguishing her wand. Her palm is torn, bloody and throbbing. She watches and gags as tight blisters rise and break. Curious, the very center of her palm is virtually unmarred, the only injury a letter "S" branded deep into the flesh.

"Perhaps, Miss Price if you are having difficulty, Mr. Brownstone could stir that for you?"

The potions master stood, glaring down the bridge of his nose at her.

"No Sir" she replied stirring awkwardly with her left hand "I'm nearly finished"

"Indeed…however," Snape turned to address the class "DISMISSED…not you Miss Price"

She stood at her cauldron, frozen. Snape waited patiently at this desk for the others to leave.

"Now Miss Price," he snarled "how did you injure your hand?"

"I…"

"There's no sense in lying Miss Price!" he stepped towards her and grasped her wrist, pulling her to her feet. He turned her hand face up and subjected her palm to his intense gaze. "You have been to my quarters…"

"I didn't know!"

"Don't patronize me!" he clutched her wrist tighter and grimaced, "20 points from Slytherin for wandering the corridors at night and a further 20 for attempting to break into professors' private rooms!"

He pulled her closer yet and raised his wand. She shrank away in a vain attempt to pull herself from his grasp. The shock of the unspoken incantation pulsed through her, her palm felt cool and the sudden rush of power forced the breath from her lungs. She slumped and fell against him her face burrowing in the rough cloth of his cloak. He pushed her back sharply and she fell. She sat for a moment while the last vestiges of magic throbbed through her core.

"Cover yourself Miss Price" his words barely registered but she managed to pull her pleated grey skirt down over her exposed thighs.

"You…healed me!" She gasped staring at the palm of her hand where only the faintest scar now remained.

"What did you expect Miss Price? An unforgivable curse?" He sneered, "Now get to your feet and out of my sight! And next time Miss Price;" he called to her as she fled with her books "the punishment may be more…severe"

She awoke with a start. The Slytherin girls' dormitory though deep in the bowels of the dungeon felt stifling. Her blankets clung to her body damp with sweat. She sat up in bed and pressed her feet against the stone floor. The floor felt as hot as the room. _Strange_, she thought. Her roommates, if bothered by the heat remained asleep. Grabbing her midnight velvet cloak from its peg, she swirled it around her body to seek the damp and cool caress of the common room. Finding it empty, she shed her cloak. She felt no better perhaps hotter than before. Grasping a water glass from the sideboard, she whispered a cooling spell on the pitcher. The chill frosted the pitcher and ice crystals tinkled into her glass as she poured. Abandoning all decorum, she gulped the water. It ran in rivulets down her parched throat and trickled from the corners of her mouth and down her slim white neck.

Still it did not cool her. She gasped and frantically fanned her self with her hands. She could not stand it any longer. Donning her cloak again, purely for modesty, she ran from the common room and into the dungeon corridor. Up through the castle she ran heedless of where she was going. At the top of a steep flight of stairs, she burst through a heavy wooden door.

She found herself at the bottom of the twisting outdoor staircase to the owlery. She ran up the curving stairs her bare feet slapping the rough stone. Reaching the top, she flung her heavy cloak to the ground and ran to the edge of the tower. Her breath caught in her throat as icy winter sleet pelted yet laved her burning flesh. She bathed in the freezing wind reveling in its soothing caress, moaning as its frozen edge cut through her sheer black tank and panties.

"That's poor treatment of expensive velvet Miss Price" Snape's voice rumbled as he stepped from the darkness of the owlery alcove and released a sleek black raven from his grasp.

He stared at her with his penetrating black eyes, his gaze never flickering from hers. He strode to where she had carelessly discarded her cloak and retrieved it. Handing it to her, he remarked,

"Hot was it?"

"Yes…I…"

He laughed then, strange and throaty rusty from disuse.

"You!" she cried and swirled her heavy cloak around her shoulders and pulling it tight closed in her fist.

"Yes, Miss Price. Me. A little side effect of my healing spells earlier, a little…dark magic if you will…though you should know ALL about that"

"I don't understand."

He moved so suddenly she had no time to react. He grabbed her left wrist in one gloved hand. She struggled in his grip to no avail. She groped blindly for the wand in her cloak with her free hand.

"Looking for this Miss Price?" he held her wand, "I think you understand perfectly! Only a Death Eater could have activated the wards at my chamber door! A Death Eater!" He thrust her palm into view. The faint silver scar glistened in the moonlight. "Shall I find out for sure?" He held the point of her wand at the base of her wrist using its point to hitch up the sleeve of her cloak. "Or is there something you wish to tell me before I do?"

She said nothing, staring defiantly at him. He ran the point of the wand up the inside of her left wrist, pushing her sleeve aside to expose…nothing.

Her pure white unmarred skin shone in the darkness.

She snatched her hand from his grasp as he stared unbelieving. It was her turn to laugh. She let loose the fierce grip she had held on the front of her cloak and it fluttered in the breeze shifting subtly to reveal sumptuous curve of breast and thigh. She walked to the edge of the tower and sat gracefully on the edge. She drew lazy circles in the snow with her bare toe.

"Aren't you…" he swallowed and regained his steely demeanor "rather chilled?"

"No Professor" she breathed, "I still seem to feel quite warm…thanks to you."

His eyes bulged for a moment. "Indeed"

"You seem rather disappointed," she cooed, "what did you expect to find?"

He sighed and sat a few feet from her on the towers ledge.

"Something…a mark…to link you with the Dark Lord"

"Ah"

"Those wards Miss Price, the ones you tripped are very sensitive magic; Dumbledore himself helped me set them. No one should be able to trip them unless they are in some way linked to Voldemort" He stared at her "Why were you attempting to break into my chambers Miss Price?"

"I wasn't! I didn't even KNOW they were your chambers!" She stared at the scar in the palm of her hand. She ran her thumb over its raised edge. Raising her eyes to his she found him staring into her palm, at her thumb, circling.

The evening of the Yule ball had arrived. Arlen Price sorted through the many ball gowns on the rack at Madame Fortunda's Formal Wizard Wear.

"Nothing you like young lady?" Mme Fortunda asked from the back of the room.

"Not so far!" Arlen replied cheerily, rolling her eyes. There were racks of dresses in washes of pale blue, icy pink in sheer taffetas and regal brocades, nothing quite right. Mme Fortunda finished with the red haired Ravenclaw at the counter, wrapped her green velvet gown in tissue with a wave of her wand and sent her on her way. She approached Arlen, eyeing her up and down.

"In what year are you dear?" She Mme Fortunda asked staring at Arlen through the spectacles at the end of her nose.

"Seventh year" Arlen replied, "Slytherin House."

"I see…in that case…follow me." She led Arlen through a curtained door at the back of the shop. "Here you might find something more to your liking"

Arlen sighed as she entered a sea of black velvet and midnight silk with hints of emerald, ruby and sapphire.

"Now dear, your size?" Mme Fortunda flicked her wand and Arlen's heavy cloak and thick sweater disappeared. She deftly wrapped tape around Arlen's slender waist and swelling bust and hips. Nodding, she moved to a rack at the far back of the room and beckoned Arlen closer.

"I think I might just have…ah! Yes!" Mme Fortunda pulled a black silk gown from a rack in the corner. "Some slight adjustments but I think you'll find it to your liking…let's slip it on shall we?"

Arlen ducked into the fitting room and donned the dress. She smoothed her hands over her waist and hips. Perfect. The dress fell to the floor in waves of rich, deep, pure black silk. The skirt was full, bustled slightly in the back. The bodice pulled in taut at the waist and bosom, boned, and laced tight. Her decollate swelled, white and creamy from the bodice of the dress. She emerged from the fitting room.

Mme Fortunda clapped her hands!

"Wonderful!" She cried, "Just a little letting out at the bust…" she moved her wand again but before she could mutter the spell, Arlen stopped her.

"No." She said, "Leave it."

Mme Fortunda looked scandalized and raised her eyebrows.

"As you wish my dear".

Clutching the dress secure in its wrappings Arlen left the shop.

A great palace of silver and ice had replaced the great hall. Enchanted snow fell softly from the ceiling and landed on the shoulders of the dancers. Icy breath floated briefly with each laugh or sigh.

Professors McGonagall, Dumbledore and Snape stood at the edge of the wheeling and circling students as the young men and women danced. Albus and Minerva made their way out among the students, the bearded man winked at Severus and whispered,

"Try to have a little fun will you?"

Severus merely snorted and resumed his glare over the crowd. Several waltzes later Albus, quite out of breath resumed his place next to Severus on the sidelines. The two men surveyed the crowd for several minutes when Dumbledore leaned in to speak over the music.

"Merlin's Beard! Isn't she one of yours Severus?"

Snape peered in the direction Albus was staring and felt his breath catch in his throat. Arlen Price was carefully picking her way down the stairs to the entrance of the great hall. Snape swallowed audibly as she moved into the room. Her curtain of black hair was neatly pinned at the crown of her head, her short bangs swept to the side. Her tight black dress left little to the imagination. The gown was strapless and fiercely boned. It nipped at the waist and caused an ample swell of bosom above. Arlen's shoulders and arms lay bare and she shivered visibly as she scanned the crowd. Her eyes fell on his and she smiled. The crowd parted around her as she moved through the hall, her feet bare, her toenails red.

She stopped just in front of him and eyed him admiringly.

"You look very handsome tonight Professor" she said managing a coy blush "would you care to dance?"

"Have you gone mad Miss Price?" He snarled.

"Now, now Severus" Albus interjected, "To my vast knowledge there is not one school rule that prohibits a teacher from dancing with a student, especially a seventh year of age!" The old man smiled and gave Snape a gentle nudge forward.

Beaming, Arlen placed her hand in the crook of Snape's elbow. She felt him stiffen but he let it remain and lead her out onto the dance floor. Students both shocked and dumbfounded gave them a wide berth.

Once on the floor she moved her hand to his shoulder, took his, and placed it on the curve of her waist.

Snape stood still, long after the music begun to play.

"Shall I lead then?" She asked jolting him from his thoughts.

"Certainly not!" He snapped and pulled her in against his chest. Absent was the harsh billowing cloak, in its place an ebony frock coat, velvet with elegant silver buttons. He had tucked his neat black trousers into polished leather boots. Even his hair was tidy, parted and brushed back to form a simple plait at the nape of his neck. He smelled of rosemary, thyme and of the potions to which he so carefully tended, sweet and dark.

He moved her about the dance floor, one song ended, another began, and still they danced. Finally, he stopped and held her still.

"What are you up to Miss Price?" He asked, a pained look creasing his brow.

"Whatever do you mean Sir?" She asked and looked up at him through heavy lashes, a faint smile parting her lips. She ran her hands down his arms, surprised when her fingers played over ropes of wiry muscle. Her tore himself from her grasp, a mix of fury and longing in his eyes. She stepped close to him once more, took his hand in hers and replaced it on her waist. Taking his other she removed the fine leather glove and tucked it away into the bodice of her dress. His black eyes bored into hers but he did not protest. She held his hand in hers oblivious to those around them who stopped and who stared. Scars traced his palm, fresh and faint, burn and blade, hazards of his trade. He recoiled and she felt him stiffen as her finger traced the fine line where hand met wrist. She looked up at him until he relaxed and placed the rough and callused palm against the smooth skin of her cheek. Then, pressing the tips of his fingers briefly to her lips she let it fall once again. Stepping back, she turned and made her way from the hall, bare feet soundless on the floor.

Snape cursed and rounded on the students who stood gaping. They immediately scattered and returned to the festivities. He growled and tore the velvet ribbon that held his plait, raking his hand through his now disheveled hair. He stared down at his palm where the last vestiges of her kiss burned, balled the hand into a fist and remembered his glove tucked still into the bodice of her dress.

The Slytherin common room was deserted, the students still in the great hall. Arlen made her way there descending the stairs to the dungeon. She reached the common room and removed her wand from a secret pocket in the folds of her skirt.

"_Incendio"_

The spell set ablaze the logs in the massive fireplace. She replaced her wand and curled her feet under her full skirt to sink down on the white rug in front of the fire.

"Nice show you put on there, _Miss Price_" a voice sneered from the doorway. She turned and saw Sergus Brownstone, a Slytherin in her year enter the common room, swaying on his feet. Sergus was large, ruddy, a beater for the Slytherin Quidditch team, and obviously drunk.

"Been into Filch's private stores again have we?" Arlen replied wrinkling her nose, Sergus smelled terrible, fire whisky and sweat. His tie was undone and his shirt untucked he made his way towards her smirking.

"Indeed I have," he belched.

"Seems to have gotten the better of you don't you think?" Arlen asked rising to her feet and backing away.

"Perhaps," he mused, "and then again, maybe not". He lunged toward her; she dodged to the side and fumbled for her wand.

"Now, now sweet flower" he breathed laughing, "there will be none of that!" He grabbed her wrists and held them together in one meaty hand. He pulled her against his chest and took a hearty sniff of her hair. He pulled the pins roughly from her hair and dropped them on the rug.

"Ahhh…" he grunted and sniffed again burrowing his face in her hair and neck.

She sobbed and struggled against him. Tighter he squeezed until she could feel the bones in her wrists grinding together. She cried out and he slapped her sharply across the face.

"Stop!" She wept, cheeks crimson with fury.

His hand was groping amongst the folds of her skirt now, rucking it up to her thighs, she kicked wildly as he fumbled with the laces of his fly and released himself, angry and erect. Pinning her wrists to the wall above her head he forced her thighs apart with a hairy knee. She screamed and wrenched against his grip. She felt the bone in her wrist snap and white-hot pain shot down her arm. She slumped against him. Sergus laughed and reached between her legs. He pawed at her, bewildered when he found fabric and not flesh.

He cried out in frustration and pulled his free hand back to strike her again. The blow snapped her head backwards, white stars burst in front of her eyes and blood began to flow from the corner of her mouth. She had bitten her tongue. He grabbed a fist full of her hair and yanked her head backward; blood ran in a thick rivulet down her throat. She was choking, she could not breath.

She tried to calm herself, breathe through her nose and found she could not. Her face was beginning to swell, she could not get air. Panic seized her; she kicked and pushed with her feet. One bare foot met its mark and sank deep into the pit of his stomach. Winded he released the grip on her wrists and hair and fell. She dropped to her knees and gasped drawing air and blood into her lungs. She coughed violently, crimson speckling the white fur rug.

Arlen leapt to her feet and groped again for her wand. It was not in her pocket. Sergus, regaining himself, dove for her. Snarling and cursing he chased her across the room. His face was scarlet with fury. He hurtled over the low sofa and knocked a small antique table aside in his pursuit. Arlen ran from the room, sliding on the tiles in her bare feet. Sergus chased her down the deserted hallway grunting and panting like a crazed beast. She ascended the stairs to the main floor and slammed the dungeon door behind her. It was no use, no sooner had she reached for the latch to lock it did it crash open again.

She took flight again across the smooth tiled floor and pushed open the heavy wood doors at the end of the hall. She found herself outside the castle. She took off through the snow heedless of the sleet and ice that pelted her. She ran until she felt as though frozen glass was cutting into her lungs with each racking sob and breath. Spinning around she saw…nothing. She could not see the castle behind her. Frozen rain tore at her dress and hair and stung her skin like a thousand biting insects. Disoriented she squinted into the sleet and saw a figure hurrying towards her. Wheeling, she ran into the storm again. Forcing her self forward, tears freezing on her cheeks, her feet sank suddenly deep into slush and icy mud. Falling forward, her skull cracked sharply against the glassy surface of the great lake.

Arlen opened her eyes and found herself in dark room. Mahogany bookshelves lined every wall. A desk to match stood near the grand marble fireplace where a fire crackled and warmed the room. She was immersed in an antique copper soaking tub, her modesty slightly preserved by a weightless black cotton shift. She sat up and raised a hand to her face; the swelling had receded, a crack in her lower lip the only injury. Her wrist, under careful inspection appeared to be healed. She lowered herself again under the steaming water and moaned as it heated her through.

"You are awake."

Arlen turned quickly, sloshing water out of the basin and onto the black marble floor. Her hands flew to cover her breasts, to which the soaked shift clung provocatively.

"Professor!"

Professor Snape sat before the fire on the black dragon skin sofa resting a brandy on his knee. He rose and walked towards her. She stood, careful to keep the water in the tub this time. He handed her the brandy snifter.

"Drink" he commanded "I assure you, it contains nothing but cognac. It will help warm you."

She brought the glass to her nose and inhaled deeply. The fumes burned her eyes but she brought the glass to her lips and drained it. She looked around the room again. Decorated much like the Slytherin common room it was dark and formal with gothic furniture and ancient books, marble fireplace and leather furniture. Lifting the hem of her skirt she stepped daintily from the tub.

Pulling the cooling and clinging shift away from her skin she asked,

"Where are we?"

"My quarters" he replied and gestured about. It was Arlen's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"I see"

"It seemed the best course of action at the time Miss Price" he sniffed, "I saw you dart from the doors of the castle, wearing nothing but your gown and pursued you, at once it was apparent from who you were running." Snape retrieved the glass from her and refilled it from an amber bottle on the sideboard. He swirled the golden liquid in the glass, emptied it in one swallow and returned it to the low table. "Mr. Brownstone will not be returning to Hogwarts, Miss Price.

The tension in her shoulders released.

"He did not…_harm_ you did he?"

"No," she replied "I managed to escape before all of his intentions were…fulfilled; I hardly knew where I was running…"

Snape nodded, he had seen her dart outside, on his way to his offices, obviously frightened. He had followed and had found her sometime later half immersed in the lake. She had not been breathing. Remembering that Madame Pomfrey was not in the castle for the Christmas holiday he brought her here, revived, healed and warmed her as best he could.

"Thank you Professor." She said moving towards him her damp shift clinging to her body "For everything".

He nodded and turned to the glow of the fire. His hair, wet from the snow, had dried in soft waves on either side of his face

"Arlen…" he started. She shivered, his deep voice playing over her skin. Never before had he used her first name. "Whatever you are doing, it needs to stop".

"Why?" she whispered coming closer. She heard him sigh and he hung his head,

"Because!" he roared, tearing his hair back from his face and wheeling to face her. "This cannot happen! You are a student, MY student, in MY house," he continued jabbing himself in the chest, "not only is it entirely inappropriate…it is…is…ARRGGHH!" He cried out in frustration, turned and pressed his hands and forehead against the cool marble mantle.

"But you want it" she said, approaching, "as do I."

"What I want, Miss Price is of no consideration" he sighed turning to face her again.

He had removed his jacket and his shirt was rumpled, he had loosened a few buttons at the neck and it was untucked from his trousers. She walked towards him and stood inches away. Raising her hands, she slid them slowly under the hem and up the lean, muscled plane of his stomach and chest, hot from the fire. His eyes closed and a low growl rumbled in his throat.

"Arlen…" he began and she stood on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips to his. It was in his mind to resist but her warm supple lips and wet pink tongue erased all thoughts from his mind but one; need. He groaned against her mouth and she began unbuttoning his shirt. He ran his hands down the smooth skin of her arms. She pushed his shirt down over his shoulders and arms until it rested at his wrists. His hands spasmed on her arms when she began to unbutton his cuffs. He stepped back, breathing hard.

"No!" Something in his voice made her step back; she studied him, glanced at the tub in the corner and back at the shirt caught about his wrists that he was shrugging back on. Realization came to her in a rush.

"What is it you don't want me to see?" She asked angrily. "Something that would shock me beyond belief? Something that would addle my feeble mind?" She shook her head and began to laugh hysterically. "Is that why you bathe in here?" she asked gesturing at the tub, "So no one can see you?" She advanced purposefully towards him and grasped his shirt in both hands. With one quick motion, she tore it off, tiny shell buttons clattering to the floor. Her hand shot out and gripped his left wrist turning it over she exposed the mark. "Is this what you were hiding?" She let his hand drop back to his side. "Voldemort's mark?"

She was not afraid; she did not cower.

"It was…a long time ago...things were different." He stared at the tattoo with loathing, moved to his desk and sat heavily in the chair. "Oh Merlin…just go!" He screamed at her, rage contorting his face. He groped amongst the papers on his desk, looking for something, anything to ground him.

"I will not go" she replied.

Moving behind him she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His back was lightly scarred…_lashes? _She pressed her face to the pale skin and tensed muscles of his back. He stood, raised her face to his and found her lips and tongue with his, deep and hungry. She shivered against him in her damp shift.

"I transfigured your gown" he said his voice husky as he gestured to the shift "the silk, it was ruined."

"It does not matter" she replied.

He took her hand and moved across the room to a shadowed doorway. He opened it with a flick of his wand and led her inside. The chamber within was dark and opulent. Heavy black velvet drapes covered floor to ceiling windows.

Arlen moved to the drapes and ran their softness through her fingers.

"Windows? But we are well underground, how did you…"

He flicked his wand again and the heavy curtains moved aside. Arlen gasped. She could see out and over the Hogwarts grounds as if she were in the astronomy tower and not deep beneath the earth.

"Like the ceiling in the common room." She pressed a palm to the leaded glass. The thick pane was cool beneath her hand as if the sleet were real and not an illusion. She reached for the pewter hook that held the window closed.

"No," Snape moved behind her and removed her fingers from the latch. "We must content ourselves with the illusion, open the window and the spell is broken." He released her fingers and pressed his lips to her throat. She reached to the neck of her shift and pulled at the black silk ribbon. The collar fell open in a deep V to her belly. Snape froze behind her. She met his gaze in the reflection of the window and turned to face him. When he gave no inclination to move she took his hand in hers. She placed his scarred palm against her throat where his kiss still lingered, moved her face near his and whispered,

"Touch me"

His hand moved down her neck and over her shoulder. He traced his fingers over the edge of her collarbone and hooked his thumb in the neckline of her shift. He pulled the damp fabric from her shoulder, and leaned in to place his teeth against her throat where her frantic pulse beat just below the skin. With her next intake of breath he bit at the tender flesh. Gooseflesh pimpled her arms and drew her nipples to aching peaks.

"Please!" she breathed.

His low laugh rumbled against her neck, he slid his rough palm down her arm to her wrist then moved it to her belly. It trailed up her body, pressing the cool shift against her skin. He traced the heavy curve of her breast through the sodden fabric with one slender fingertip but instead of brushing the damp cloth aside to torment her trembling flesh, he pressed the moist fabric firmly against her skin and ran a rough and callused thumb over her tender flesh at its peak.

The sensation was maddening. Arlen arched against his hand and pressed her back to the cool glass of the window. Snape lowered his head to her other breast, her nipple straining tight and hard against the damp and clinging fabric. She could just feel his hot breath against the taut ache there when a persistent knock at the door rang through the room.

"Severus?" The voice was that of Minerva McGonagall. "Severus! Are you in there? We require your services quite urgently. Severus!"

_I require his services more urgently! _ Arlen thought as Snape's hands fell from her body.

"You will return to your dormitory Miss Price…after Minerva and I have cleared the corridor" he raked his hand through his hair once more and strode from the room.


End file.
